


First Time

by starluff



Category: Advance Wars
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starluff/pseuds/starluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen victories, one defeat. Sounds impressive but it's not. It could have been 100 victories and it wouldn't have mattered. You lost the one the war that mattered most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time

**Author's Note:**

> The first fic I ever wrote :3

You've never seen your own HQ get taken before.

They say there's a first time for everything, right? You think bitterly. Today was a first for a lot of things for you. It's a lot to take in.

You watch the screen a little longer but there's no silver lining. There's nothing else to fall back on or turn to. Where before there had been three bright, vibrant, hopeful colors, there is now an all-consuming blackness. Not a spark of any other color; all you can see is black. It's taken over everything; it's taking over your soul. You get up and move away, if only so that you don't see the oppressing color anymore. You don't get far. Despair is a heavy thing and you only have the energy to walk up to the wall and slide down it. You stare at the floor.

Andy, Sami, Grit, they all put their trust in you today. Up against the Ultimate Enemy, fighting, not just for Orange Star anymore, but for the world. For Sonja. You can still see Andy, how his eyes shone with confidence during the start of the battle. Sami's burned with anger and fury, while Grit's feelings were hidden, as always. For the first time, you were leading three armies, not one. This place that you're in now is where you kept tabs on everyone, as opposed to being in the HQ alongside the CO. The idea was so that the CO could focus on his/her army, placement, and problems while you were the glue that made three one. Told Grit to send X there so that Andy would be able to do Y and help Sami where she needed it most. That was the concept, but when the three left you, once you were alone inside this building with three armies to think about, you didn't feel like _just_ glue.

For the first time, you weren't helping a CO, you weren't advising the king. You were the king.

For the first time, you lost.

It's finally sinking in, your own failure. Even when Andy and Sami went, when it was just you and Grit, you still fought and struggled and some part of you was still sure you would win.

That part is dead.

You've failed them. Not just the three that died today, under your inadequate command, but the whole world. You've failed everyone. Emotions are building up inside you and, for the first time since the war began, you don't see any reason to hold it back. What is the point? You allow yourself your first sob, your first tear – and then you explode. You collapse to the floor, tears flooding. You're wailing and sobbing at the top of your lungs.

The feeling that Andy might hear, might come and comfort you, comes, then shrivels and dies. He would be here, if you hadn't failed him. He would be here and do everything in his power to comfort you. Maybe feel a bit awkward and freaked out like guys tend to get around crying girls - no, Andy rarely freaked out like that. He'd be as kind and energetic as he always is - was. But that would mean he is here because you didn't fail and you would deserve such kindness.

But you haven't, so you don't, do you?

You curl up into a ball and are consumed by all the things you should have done but didn't. _Why_ didn't you just get a tank and instead decide to save up for the stronger MD tank? _Why_ did you build that B Copter? Why, why, _why?!_

There are sounds outside but you hardly notice; it doesn't matter anymore, after all. The door to your room opens and it still doesn't matter. You recognize voices amidst the noise and it still doesn't matter.

"There's a survivor here, Commanding Officer." You lift your head and look at the light in the doorway. Your violent wails have subsided and your left with a bone-deep feeling of regret and sorrow, your sobs replaced by pitiful sniffles and ragged breath. You shake your head, as if denying the previous statement. No, there aren't survivors here. Don't be fooled by the beating pulse, there's nothing in this husk. It all came out, somehow, during the crying. It doesn't matter.

There's Sturm in the doorway, talking. You try to get a spark of anger, try to light the fire of fury, like Sami so long ago. Try to put the blame on this masked man that started all this. But you can't. It was your responsibility, your fault that everyone's dead or dying.

You bow your head and don't bother listening to the victor's words. Not out of defiance, not out spite, not out of anger. Just out of nothing

Because it doesn't matter.


End file.
